An Unlikely Resolution
by ladeesarah001
Summary: Three years after the final battle a chance encounter with Ginny Weasley allows the Slytherins to find out how life's treating her and the Golden Trio. The terror of Voldemort no longer draws people together… or keeps them apart. AU DMxGW Post-Hogwarts
1. Dragon's Blood

**- AN UNLIKELY RESOLUTION -  
**

Author: ladeesarah001  
Category: Harry Potter  
Rating: M (mature themes)  
Published: 15 September, 2010**  
**Completed: No  
Beta: Priyanka

Note that this story is written in first and third person, chapters alternate.

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**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all recognisable characters belong to the creative and talented J.K. Rowling.

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– **CHAPTER 1 –**

**Dragon's Blood**

Dragon's Blood was tradition. It was where they always went after their inevitably stressful weeks. No one, aside from the others like them, knew how difficult their lives were; no one thought that the life of an heir was anything but smooth sailing, but they were wrong. Despite outward appearances, the expensive robes and the hoards of witches falling prostrate at their feet, their lives were hard and demanding. Theirs were not the carefree lives portrayed by the Daily Prophet and photographed by Witch Weekly; their lives, everything that they were, revolved around duty and honour.

Every man who sat sprawled around the luxury VIP room was duty bound to take over the family business, expected to find a pretty wife, to marry young, and honour bound to produce a male heir to carry on the line and continue the family name. Without question, they were expected to adhere to their parents' beliefs and the timeless traditions of the oldest and most respected Pureblood families. These were the very beliefs and traditions that had relegated them to their current predicament, the beliefs and traditions that they had been too young to comprehend, the same beliefs and traditions which were currently the cause of their precarious situation.

Since Potter's heralded victory in the Battle of Hogwarts, waged some three years earlier, things had changed in the Wizarding World. The names of the old families had been all but shunned; many of the patriarchs, and even some of the matriarchs, enjoying life sentences in Azkaban. This meant that their offspring had to step up and take over the family businesses while dealing with all of the fallout of their parents' actions and choices. The families may have temporarily lost the respect to which they were so accustomed, but their ancestors would come back from the dead before they became poor as well. The only man at the table who had thus far escaped his fate, if only for a short while, was Marcus Flint, who spent his time playing Chaser for the notorious Falmouth Falcons; his mother had taken over the family business, allowing him to pursue his dream and play professional Quidditch.

The Dragon's Blood was as classy and exclusive as clubs came; it was Unplottable, and you couldn't get in without first having been invited there by someone else. The club had four entrances, all painstakingly warded and disillusioned using ancient magics. The entrance that the young men frequented was located in Knockturn Alley, and from that dingy parlour, they were able to quickly grasp the rotten apple core that transported them to the exclusive club. This was the only entrance that the young wizards could use since they hadn't yet been shown any of the other three entrances; the club's physical location was so secret that the wizards doubted that even the owner knew the club proper's location.

Everything in the club was related to the number twelve, in deference to the twelve known uses of dragon's blood. The walls were clad in rich Tyrian purple velvet and all the furnishings made from a deep ebony coloured wood. The Dragon's Blood positively oozed sophistication and class, which was more than could be said for some of the floozies that some classless wizards had brought to the club.

"Does anyone need anything?" asked a chipper voice.

The excitable female was very out of place in the club's subdued atmosphere, especially since the question was asked without being laced with the customary innuendo. For this reason alone, the small witch singularly captured the attention of every wizard at the table as they waited for their de facto leader to respond, a title that Draco Malfoy had not relinquished, despite his family's spectacular fall from grace.

"Weaslette," Draco drawled, "don't you recognise me?"

"Of course I recognise you," the redheaded witch replied, poorly masking the irritation in her voice. "However, I'm working, and most of the people who come here are looking for anonymity, so greeting you would have most likely been inappropriate and unwelcome."

"Here here!" Theodore Nott toasted the feisty witch's words before downing the rest of his drink.

"A round of Firewhiskey for the table." Draco placed the group's order and dismissed his former schoolmate in a single breath.

Not to be outdone, much less intimidated, the small redhead smiled as she replied, "Of course, I'll bring the bottle then, shall I?"

"An excellent idea," crowed Blaise Zabini. "Indeed you should."

Silence reigned at the table in the redhead's wake. The witch had been correct in her assumption that the group of wizards wished to be left alone, but her display of fearless wit was also the most interesting thing that had happened to them all night.

"That was interesting," grunted Marcus Flint.

"Of course it was," Adrian Pucey agreed with a snort. "She's a redhead _and _a Gryffindor."

When Ginny Weasley returned to the table with a tray of Firewhiskeys and the previously promised bottle of the fiery alcohol, she once again found herself commanding the attention of the entire table of wizards.

"A witch of her word," Blaise mused as he refilled his already drained glass of Firewhiskey. The young wizard was clearly impressed that she would trust them with the bottle of Blishen's after the minor drunken incident of the night before.

"So you work here then?" Draco asked her gruffly, before she was able to escape their company.

"Obviously," she replied, dropping all pretence of politeness as she rolled her eyes to emphasise her point.

"Already ruffled her feathers," drawled the silky voice of Graham Montague. "I always found Gryffindors to be the most fun; they respond in the most amusing ways."

"I was prompting you to tell me why you are working here, not asking for confirmation of the obvious," reprimanded the bored voice of Draco, completely ignoring Montague's comment.

"It's just a job," the witch replied, following his example and ignoring the jibe from Montague.

"Yes, but _why_ is it your job?" Draco persisted. "Did you get your NEWTS and think to yourself _'Now I can fulfil my wildest dreams and become a waitress at Dragon's Blood?'_"

Completely insulted by the blonde wizard's comments, the witch turned to leave, but her progress was halted by long slender fingers curling around her wrist and holding her in place.

"Forgotten something?" Blaise asked her with a smirk, releasing her wrist and placing a handful of galleons on the table.

"No," the redhead replied after a quick glance to confirm what the Italian wizard had placed on the table. "The drinks have been added to you tab."

"Silly girl," chastised Adrian's silken burr over the muttered 'Gryffindors' of the rest of the table. "It's a tip."

This information caused the witch to pause once again. Turning back to the table, she quickly scooped up three of the twenty or so galleons that lay on the table before once again trying to escape the oppressive company of the ex-Slytherins.

"You must take another for putting up with Drake," the accented voice of Blaise stopped her again. Her brain was momentarily flummoxed by the wolfish grin that adorned his aristocratic features.

Determined to escape them this time, Ginny quickly slid another galleon from the table and into her waiting palm just below the lip of the table. Without looking up, she started to stride away from the table of Slytherins eager to put some distance between them.

"Weasley," another of the table's occupants called out to her.

"Yes?" she asked sweetly, turning around to face the table of wizards again, despite it being against her better judgement. When none of the wizards spoke, merely gazing upon her expectantly, she was forced to walk back to the table.

"When does your shift finish?" Draco asked, glass poised near his lips ready for him to take another sip.

Ginny hesitated for a moment before hastily casting a Tempus charm.

"In an hour and a half," she answered.

"You should join us when you get off," Draco said in invitation. She could hear the smirk in his voice from halfway across the club, but she refused to respond and most definitely refused to turn around.

The last hour and a half of Ginny's shift went by uneventfully, and she was especially grateful that the group of Slytherins didn't need anything else since she'd left them the bottle. She only hoped that they didn't get too drunk because her boss would kill her for leaving them the bottle after what happened the night before.

The busy Saturday night at the club wasn't enough to keep her mind from replaying the conversation, if it could even be called that, she and Draco had had. His jibe about working at the club was more than enough to reignite her shame over her indecisiveness. There hadn't been anything wrong with her NEWT scores: she'd been one of the top students to graduate from Hogwarts that year. The problem wasn't her grades or a lack of job offers; her problem was that she was incredibly indecisive and worried, to the point of Hermione-like paranoia, that she would choose the wrong job and wind up doing something she hated. The entire situation was embarrassing, so she hated running into old school friends and having to tell them that she hadn't chosen a career yet. Even worse was running into Malfoy of all people and having to tell him that.

Grabbing her cloak and purse from the staff area located through a door at the rear of the club, Ginny started to make her way to the Knockturn Alley exit. From there, she could easily Apparate home. Before she could get far, a muscular arm draped itself across her shoulders.

"Not leaving without saying goodbye to us were you?" Nott asked her teasingly as he guided her back across the club and into their private room.

"Of course not," Ginny replied with faked confidence as she frantically tried to gauge how much of the bottle of Blishen's aged Firewhiskey had been drunk by the wizards. She was both relieved and concerned when her calculations suggested that the bottle contained nearly as much of the amber liquid as when she had brought it over. Maybe they hadn't had too much to drink, or maybe this was their second bottle?

"Here, love, you can sit on my lap," Nott offered as he dragged her unceremoniously into his embrace and an awkward position on his lap.

"Now, now Theo, Weasley can have her very own chair," Blaise intervened smoothly, the speed of his intervention hastened greatly by the horrified look on Ginny's face.

"Ginny," she corrected automatically.

"Come again?" Blaise asked her, genuinely confused.

"Call me Ginny, not _Weasley_," she elaborated.

"What sort of name is Ginny?" snorted Montague.

"It's my nickname, short for Ginevra," she defended herself, a little miffed at the drunken Slytherin's antics.

"Well, if we're using _nicknames_," Blaise emphasised the word in a sinful manner, "we'd best complete the introductions. I am, of course, Blaise, short for _Blaise_. This is Drake or Draco, Graham, but we call him Montague and Marcus, who we call Flint. Lastly, these are Theo, Greg, and finally Adrian, it's currently a fifty-fifty split between Adrian and Pucey for him."

"Uh, nice to meet you, I guess," Ginny replied noncommittally.

"So, Red, why are you working here?" Blaise asked conversationally.

"Red?" she retorted, clearly unimpressed with Blaise's new pet name for her. In any other company, she would have been immediately offended when an apology wasn't forthcoming, but seated as she was in the snake pit, Ginny was unsurprised. Quickly coming to the conclusion that she wasn't going to be able to leave until they got what they wanted and that she wasn't going to be able to work out exactly what that was by sitting in silence, she decided to answer the question. "It's just a job. I don't know what I want to do, and I'm a little scared of choosing the wrong thing. I quite literally cannot afford to train for a position and then discover I loathe it; I'd be stuck there."

"So you're working here until you work out what you want to do with yourself?" Draco asked her conversationally. However, below the surface, he was screaming at the unfairness of it all. Why was he forced to take over the family businesses while the Weaslette got to be a lush and ponder her options?

"Pretty much," she replied with a shrug, secretly glad that the Slytherins seemed nonplussed by her lack of direction.

"Have you considered Quidditch?" Marcus asked, breaking the silence that was created by his brooding friends. "I remember you were a fairly decent Chaser."

"I did actually. I tried out for the Hollyhead Harpies, and they accepted me onto the team, but I turned the position down," Ginny told Marcus, who was looking at her with an expression that clearly conveyed that he thought her daft.

"Just ignore him, Red," Adrian Pucey interrupted. "He thinks everyone should be aspiring to professional Quidditch."

"No, it's all right. It turns out that I'm incredibly vain, I like my face and appreciate being able to walk without a limp," Ginny sheepishly confessed to the group of Slytherins.

None of the wizards said anything for a moment before, without any warning, Marcus Flint burst into laughter. His deep, gravelly laugh reverberated through the club, disturbing many of the other patrons.

"Well, I'd better be going," Ginny excused herself. "I'm obviously at my limit since I forgot to tell Adrian off for calling me _Red_."

"Do you still watch Quidditch?" Marcus asked, having finally recovered from his fit of laughter.

Still trying to edge herself away from the Slytherin wizards, who had somehow managed to commandeer a fair portion of her evening, Ginny nodded her affirmation.

"I'll owl you a ticket for the game this weekend," Marcus told her before the entire table of wizards shifted their attention elsewhere.

That the whole lot of them had moved on to other topics of conversation so quickly left Ginny a little miffed, but not so much as the realisation that they had managed to dismiss her, even though she had clearly declared her intentions of leaving. Irritated beyond description, Ginny quickly made her way from the exclusive club, and once she set foot on Knockturn Alley, she quickly Apparated herself to the doorstep of her modest cottage. Slamming the door behind her as she entered her cosy home made her feel a little better, although her mind was still frantically trying to work out what the Slytherins wanted and why they would invite her to a Quidditch match.

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**A/N:** I have this story floating around in my head (particular a scene that slots in much farther down the track) so I started writing it down. Then of course once I finished a chapter I wanted to post it, so now this chapter is here. Unfortunately at the moment I currently have three other stories on the go... so hopefully you now realise why I think myself foolish :)

**(08 June, 2011)** Uploaded the newly beta'd version of the chapter, thank you Priyanka!


	2. Ginny's Morning After the Dragon's Blood

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and all identifiable entities belong to the ingenious and gifted J.K. Rowling.

**Beta:** Priyanka

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**– CHAPTER 2 –**

**Ginny's Morning After the Dragon's Blood**

_Ginny's POV_

The following morning, despite a fitful sleep where I spent most of my dreamtime trying to work out what the Slytherins from the club last night wanted, I was still nowhere closer to understanding their motives. All throughout Hogwarts, even before, I was told how bad the Slytherins were. Slytherins were cruel and not to be trusted, and everything I had witnessed at Hogwarts supported that well known fact. Nearly every wizard who had ever gone bad was in Slytherin house, as had been every student who had ever shoved me into a wall when they passed me in the hallways. I even remembered the first time I ever met a Slytherin. It was the fourth day of classes in my first year, and the older boy shoved me roughly as he passed, making my books fall everywhere. Needing to hurry to make it to class on time, I quickly dropped to my knees to pick up my books only to find that they were stuck to the stone floor. Five minutes later, I was saved by a sixth year Hufflepuff, which would have been embarrassing in itself, but by the end of the whole saga, I was fifteen minutes late for class. To this day, walking into Professor McGonagall's classroom fifteen minutes late still ranked at the top of my 'most embarrassing moments ever' list.

It was almost eight o'clock, which meant that if I was going to stay in bed until I had puzzled out exactly what made Slytherins tick, at this rate, I would never be getting up. I needed to get up now. After a quick shower, I charmed myself dry and my hair straight before applying some lip gloss; I didn't have plans to go anywhere today. Sitting down with some pumpkin juice and a simple breakfast of scrambled eggs on toast, I started to analyse the previous evening again only to be interrupted by a rhythmic tapping sound.

A quick glance at my window revealed a very large and vicious looking eagle owl. Not wishing to incur the wrath of such a fierce looking bird, I rushed to open the window to let the owl in. Immediately, the owl swooped into the room, alighting on the table beside my half-eaten breakfast and offering me the envelope in its beak. Still a little shocked by the arrival of an owl I didn't recognise, I quickly took the letter and offered it a piece of toast in place of an owl treat. Hooting its appreciation, the giant bird snatched up the offering before flying back out the window. My window, although not particularly small, wasn't large either, and I was momentarily distracted from the mysterious letter as I admired how easily the gargantuan owl had flitted through it. After my brief circumspection, I turned my attention to the envelope clasped in my hands. I didn't recognise the masculine scrawl any more than I had the owl, but the words themselves narrowed the possibilities down.

_Ginny, not Weasley_

Opening the envelope, clearly sent by one of the Slytherin wizards who had accosted me the previous evening, I removed a single sheet of folded parchment and a Quidditch ticket. Leaving the ticket to one side, I unfolded the sheet of parchment and read the short note.

_Dearest Not Weasley,_

_Please find enclosed the previously promised ticket to this Saturday's Falmouth Falcons match. Although I will not be able to enjoy it personally, I know that my esteemed friends would be delighted to again enjoy your radiant company._

_Yours,_

_Marcus Flint_

_'Presumptuous, smarmy _and_ insulting_,' I thought to myself as I tossed the parchment onto the table, returning to my breakfast. With distaste, I noticed that my food had already gone cold. Why did something so delicious become cold and disgusting so quickly? Casting a quick heating charm, I finished my breakfast, but scrambled eggs really didn't reheat well, so I resolved to bin it if I ever encountered it in its less delicious, cold form again.

The past evening, all my interactions with Slytherins, actually, made little or no sense to me, so I decided to get some fresh insight. Luna and Lavender, as well as my mother, were immediately ruled out, and with a sigh, I realised that I'd have to ask Hermione for advice if I wanted an objective opinion. The only problem with that was that I would have to wait until one to Floo Hermione, which left me with four hours to kill. An hour later, I had started and then discarded no less than four books, so I decided to try and pass the time by gardening. With three hours up my sleeve, perhaps I would make it to that back corner I never seemed to get to, even if it meant that I would need another shower.

By five minutes to one, I was sitting in front of my fireplace willing time to pass, already showered after having managed to weed that much neglected corner of my garden. Deciding that close enough was good enough, I Flooed Hermione and was soon, thanks to a passing house elf, greeting my friend.

"It's still hard to believe that you have house elves," I confessed with a smile.

"I know," came the jovial, if not somewhat tired, response. "Tweak, Droopy and Gilford are, of course, paid and receive time off."

"Good. I don't know if we could be friends anymore if you started to abuse and mistreat house elves," I told my old friend in mock seriousness.

"Not that it isn't great to hear from you, Gin, but is there something in particular you wanted? I need to get into the office."

"I wanted some of your sage advice actually," I told Hermione. "I ran into some Slytherins at work last night."

"Which job was that, Gin? Oh, never mind, give me a sec." Hermione disappeared from the room, reappearing a few minutes later. "Right, I've contacted my secretary to let him know I'll be in late today. Which Slytherins? And what exactly happened?"

"Well, I was working at the Dragon's Blood last night, and there were a whole bunch of Slytherins in my section—"

"Which ones? Do I know them?" Hermione interrupted.

"Malfoy, Goyle, Zabini, Nott, Marcus Flint, Adrian Pucey and Graham Montague."

"Right, so the first four were in my year, and the others were a few years ahead. Did they try to do something?"

"No, not really," I told Hermione, simultaneously trying to calm her down and decide if any of the Slytherins had done anything.

"That was convincing," Hermione told me dryly.

"No, they didn't try anything; they just wanted to talk," I assured her with a lot more conviction in my voice. "They asked me why I was working at the Dragon's Blood and insisted that I join them after my shift was over."

"Insisted? Ginny, I thought you said they didn't try anything," Hermione reminded me, her concern evident in her voice.

"Well, I planned to just slip past them and leave the club, but Nott intercepted me," I elaborated, frowning as I recalled the previous night.

"Intercepted?" Hermione patiently prompted me, suspicion in her voice.

"I think he was a bit drunk," I admitted sheepishly, but rushed to allay Hermione's fears. "Nothing happened, though; he just steered me back to their VIP room and pulled me into his lap, but Blaise quickly rescued me."

"Did he, now?" Hermione asked with her eyebrow quirked, her distrust of the Italian wizard evident in her voice. I still couldn't understand my friend's unwavering and seemingly irrational dislike of Blaise Zabini; he was never as bad as his housemates, and the simple fact that he was a Slytherin had never been enough to explain away the depth of Hermione's animosity.

"He did; he even insisted that I take an extra galleon as a tip for putting up with Malfoy," I automatically defended the wizard. "He was quite nice. They all were actually, except for Malfoy who was a little hostile and Nott who was a little drunk."

"Okay, okay," Hermione soothed. "I assume there's more to this encounter?"

"Yeah, Malfoy kept asking why I was working at the Dragon's Blood, and I ended up telling him what I've been telling you for the last couple of years, basically that I'm scared of making the wrong choice. Then, Flint started asking about Quidditch and why I wasn't playing that, and then finally, as I was leaving, he invited me to a Falcons game and told me that he'd owl me a ticket."

"That's certainly odd," Hermione mused. "However, it's not like you're likely to see them again, unless it's at the Dragon's Blood, so my advice is to stop stressing over it."

"But that's the thing, Hermione," I stopped my friend from saying anything more. "I received an owl from Marcus this morning – scariest owl I've ever seen – he's sent me a ticket to the game this weekend."

"Gin, I still don't understand the problem."

"Well, should I go or not?" I asked her impatiently.

Hermione studied my face pensively for a moment. "Do you want to go?"

"I don't know," I wailed. "I don't know what to think."

"Calm down, Gin, let's think about this rationally."

"Thank you," I breathed in relief, instantly calming down some; this was why I'd Flooed Hermione in the first place.

"Well, you said yourself that the Slytherins were actually quite nice to you last night, and you do like Quidditch—"

"But it was the Ferret, and they're Slytherins!" I cut her off.

"True," Hermione agreed with a smile. "But if you believed that was really important, I don't think we would be having this conversation. I think you want me to tell you that it's okay to use the ticket."

"Damn you," I grumbled, not that it seemed to deter Hermione one bit.

"Who are the Falcons playing?"

"Hang on," I muttered, retrieving the ticket from the table. "The Chudley Cannons."

"Is the seat any good?"

"Yeah, actually," I told her, my eyes widening as I read the ticket and saw that my seat was in an exclusive private box.

"Right, so you're a talented witch who can take care of herself, you love Quidditch, the ticket's free, the seat's amazing and you'll be able to see Ron play," Hermione summed it up for me. "He still plays Keeper for the Cannons, doesn't he?"

"Screw Ron," I growled at her. She of all people should know how I felt about my brother.

"Okay," she agreed hurriedly. "So you can take care of yourself, you love Quidditch, the ticket's free, the seat's great, you've still plenty of time to buy a Falcon's strip and Ron will probably see you wearing it."

"Good point," I agreed with a mischievous smile, picturing Ron's bright red face as he saw me in a Falcon's strip; it would probably be enough to get his ears to go as well. "But they're Slytherins; I don't think the ticket's _free_."

"No, but it sounds like they're interested in finding out what their non-Slytherin classmates have been up to since Hogwarts. Getting you to tell them is an easy solution, and they could quite easily find out another way, so there's no real harm in you telling them."

"I guess," I reluctantly agreed, trying to find a flaw in her logic, but not really at all surprised when I couldn't find one. "I'd better go then; apparently I need to go shopping in Diagon Alley, and you need to get to work."

"Enjoy the match," Hermione told me before I ended the Firecall. It was only after I finished the call that I realised that I hadn't asked after Matt. I'd call her again soon, probably to let her know how the match went, and I'd make a point of asking about Matt then.

I felt much calmer now that I knew what I was doing; talking with Hermione was always like that. I'd be confused and stressed about what to do, and she just calmly took all the information in and formulated a plan for me. I always operated better with a plan and a definite goal in mind. Hermione and I had talked for a while, but I still had plenty of time to do some shopping in Diagon Alley before having a late lunch. Locating my bag from the previous night, I upended it on the table to make finding the tips I'd tossed there last night easier to find. In my haste to leave and avoid the Slytherins last night, I'd just tossed the money in my bag. Knuts and Sickles I was expecting, as well as the four galleons from Blaise, but there were almost twenty galleons on the table once I'd emptied everything out of my bag. Twenty galleons were not something that I misplaced at the bottom of my bag.

Thinking back to the previous night for the umpteenth time today, I tried to think of all the occasions where I was given a Galleon in my tip; Blaise's galleons had been the only time. I clearly remembered Blaise placing a handful on the table for me to take, but I distinctly remembered only grabbing three, which was a bit greedy as it was. Then, of course, he gave me another one since Malfoy was behaving like an arse, but that only accounted for four of the Galleons. The extra galleons were in my bag though, and that had been stowed out the back for most of the night, and the only people who had access were the manager, the bartenders and the other waitresses, and it wasn't likely that any of them would have slipped that much money into my bag. It was possible that my manager took pity on me for having to put up with the Slytherins, but he would have made quite a show of giving the money to me and made sure that I knew why he was giving it to me.

Blaise was the only reasonable explanation that I could come up with. I had my bag with me when Nott dragged me back to the VIP room, but I couldn't help but believe that I would notice someone putting something into or taking something out of my bag; I clutched onto that bag like my life depended on it last night. As usual, I wasn't getting very far on my own, and I was tempted to Floo Hermione again. Two international Floo calls in one day seemed a bit excessive though. Closing my eyes, I tried to picture how the table looked when Nott dragged me onto his lap; I'd been carefully taking inventory of how much alcohol they'd likely drunk. And yes, there had still been a small pile of Galleons sitting on the table near Blaise. Could he have slipped them into my bag? Why would he?

Deciding not to worry about it, and that Slytherins never have and never will make sense, I scooped the money and my wand off the table and Apparated to Diagon Alley. My trip to Quality Quidditch Supplies went a lot faster than I thought it would; the mystery Galleons allowed me to throw caution to the wind and purchase a deluxe Falcons jersey. The only thing that slowed me down was debating about whether I should get the scarf as well. I didn't, but I did get to enjoy the shocked look of the employees and other customers as the sister of the Chudley Cannon's Keeper purchased a jersey for a rival team. In a thoroughly good mood after my little rebellious display, I found a table outside a busy little cafe and sat down to a late lunch. My food had only just arrived when a shadow loomed across my table.

"Mind if I join you?" asked a familiarly accented voice.

"I guess not," I told the wizard with a shrug.

"Well, I've just come from a business lunch. What brings you to Diagon Alley?" he asked me conversationally.

"Blaise, I'm hurt," I teased. "I'm going to a Quidditch match on Saturday and had to buy a new jersey."

It was hard to keep a straight face as Blaise visibly blanched. From his expression, it was safe to assume that he thought I had purchased a new Cannons jersey, bright orange monstrosities that they were. Barely containing my glee, I reached into the shopping bag at my feet and removed my new Falcon's jersey to show him.

"Whatever will your brother say?" he asked me with mock sadness, but he was unable to totally cover his surprise.

"Don't know, don't care," I told him, with a shrug and mischief in my eyes, before leaning in to continue in a conspiratorial whisper. "Although, judging from the looks I got in the shop, he'll know soon and there's probably a Howler waiting for me at home."

"You do know they sell those in witch's sizes?" he asked me in amusement, clearly choosing not to comment on what was a sibling's spat.

"I prefer the wizard size, They're really comfortable to sleep or just lounge around in, and it's really easy to alter the size so it's more fitted if I want to wear it to a match," I told the Italian wizard. The instant the words escaped my lips, I desperately wished that I could recall them; it didn't matter how personable Blaise was; being he was still a Slytherin, and they were known to use anything and everything against you.

"I'll be sure to mention it to Flint," Blaise told me with a smirk. The suggestive comment was like both a promise and a threat all rolled into one, and I prayed my face hadn't flushed too brightly.

"I'm sure you will," I muttered under my breath.

"Well, as enlightening as this has been, I'd best be returning to my office. I'll see you on Saturday." Blaise excused himself as he stood from our small table and made quite a production of leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on my hand. It wasn't until he was well out of sight that I realised that he'd left money on the table to pay for my meal, as well as a generous tip for the waitress.

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**A/N:** Thanks to those who are reviewing, it really makes my day! Next chapter is the Quidditch match, I envision having trouble writing that one, getting the balance between interactions between Ginny and the Slytherins and describing some of the match will be nightmarish.

**Question:** Firecall / Floo Call, does anyone know which is correct?  
I've used Firecall, which I know I've read in other fics, but my beta, Priyanka, thinks it is Floo Call. I can't find anything to tell me which (if either) is correct, but I think they both make sense since the Floo Network works through fireplaces. If anyone *knows* I'll update it.

**(23 June, 2011)** Beta'd chapter uploaded


	3. The Golden Ticket

**Disclaimer:** All due credit to J.K. Rowling for creating such a wonderful world and characters for me to play with.

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– **CHAPTER 3 –**

**The Golden Ticket**

The Saturday of the match between the Falcons and the Canons rolled around very quickly for the ticketholders of VIP box number four, too quickly for some. Excitement was in the air as the match promised to be quite the spectacle. The outcome wasn't in question; the Canons _never_ won, but many bets had been placed on the final score and the number of game or career-ending injuries that would be sustained before the snitch was caught.

"I wonder if Red will show?" Adrian Pucey asked in a conversational tone, taking delight in the way that Draco Malfoy's head snapped up.

"The piccola strega will be here," Blaise Zabini informed the group confidently. **(1)**

His statement was met with a bevy of carefully disguised reactions of surprise and several raised eyebrows. The Italian wizard still didn't feel the need to elaborate, however.

"Perhaps we should have arranged to meet her before coming to the stadium?" Gregory Goyle mused thoughtfully.

"It would have been the polite thing to do," agreed Adrian.

"She's a Gryffindor; she can take care of herself," interjected Theodore Nott.

"True, but I think we're drifting off topic," drawled Draco. "How do you know she's coming, Zabini?"

"Jealous, Malfoy?" a feminine voice queried from the doorway, her amusement evident.

The six wizards quickly turned to the doorway, although their years as members of Slytherin house had trained them not to betray too great an interest in the newcomer. Uncharacteristically, none of the young men tried to hide their appreciate appraisal of the witch's attire. The redhead was wearing a long, fitted Falmouth Falcons jersey which was shocking enough without adding the tiny black shorts and patterned Knee-hi socks that she had paired with some plain black flats.

"I've never seen a Quidditch jersey look so... _delectable_," Blaise purred as he rose and carefully directed the witch into a seat between Draco and himself.

"I take it you haven't mentioned running into me in Diagon Alley last Sunday?" Ginny Weasley asked, unable to stop the blush the crept up her face.

"No, he didn't," confirmed Draco, shooting a covert glare in the Italian's direction that was summarily ignored.

"Far more fun this way, we got to enjoy their shock," Blaise winked conspiratorially.

"It's not that surprising," Ginny defended. "There are only two teams playing, so that significantly limited my choices. It would hardly be appropriate to wear a Hollyhead Harpies jersey."

"Interesting definition of appropriate," muttered Graham Montague, giving Adrian a nudge and throwing a playful leer in the redhead's direction. His voice wasn't low enough though, and his words carried to Ginny's ears.

"What, you've never seen a witch's knees before?" Ginny asked in her most innocent voice. The reactions of the six wizards in the VIP box were amusing her greatly; her clothing was hardly scandalous.

As Blaise had commented on Sunday, Ginny had purchased a wizard sized jersey, so it was hardly form-fitting or low cut. Plus, the witch had hardly altered it, only bringing it in a little at her waist so that it didn't look like she was wearing an oversized potato sack. Her black shorts were tight, but not obscenely so, and they weren't _that_ short. Ginny Weasley had actually managed to obscure a commendable portion of her body when one took into account her knee-hi socks. You could only see her head, hands, knees and her lower thigh. Hardly salacious, unless you were a Pureblood wizard and accustomed to floor-length gowns, of course. Draco Malfoy snorted from his seat behind the witch, and Montague's smile turned lecherous while the other four wizards politely contained their reactions to her words.

"You've a lot to learn little one," Adrian told her with a shake of his head. Draco gave another snort.

Before the redhead could begin her angry tirade against being called _little one,_ another witch appeared at the door. She had flawless skin, artfully curled blonde hair and stood over six feet tall in her strappy stiletto sandals. The absurdly tight Falcons t-shirt that she wore left less than nothing to the imagination, but it was still positively decent when compared with the denim mini skirt that the witch had squeezed into. Ginny had stopped and admired how her legs appeared to be lengthened by her casual outfit before she left her cottage, but when compared with the statuesque blonde, she thought her legs must look positively stumpy.

"Case in point," Ginny muttered under her breath.

"What was that?" questioned the blonde witch, who, unlike the wizards present, hadn't heard the snide comment.

"Time for introductions!" Ginny exclaimed brightly without missing a beat. The wizards chuckled over her flawless cover while the blonde assumed they were amused by the redhead's enthusiasm.

"What a brilliant idea," the blonde witch agreed, determined not to be outdone by the redhead.

Adrian stood and politely guided the witch into the one remaining seat directly between himself and Montague and conveniently located so that the two witches could easily converse despite being seated in different rows.

"Everyone, please allow me to introduce Miss Ophelia Yaxley," Adrian intoned. "She's the daughter of the friend of a friend of my mother's, Mrs. Constance Yaxley, who is on the committee for this year's St. Mungo's Children's Ward benefit organised by the Daughters of Avalonian Decent." **(2)**

The tall wizard paused, as though to allow the other occupants to absorb this vital information and presumably suppress an eye roll, before continuing the introductions.

"Ophelia, these are Graham Montague, Theodore Nott, Gregory Goyle, Miss Ginevra Weasley, Lord Blaise Zabini and, of course, Lord Draco Malfoy," Adrian concluded the obligatory introductions.

"Adrian, how do you know Miss Weasley?" asked the simpering blonde as she firmly attached herself to Adrian's arm.

To the wizard's credit, none of the box's other occupants were able to discern his disgust at the witch's actions, but no one missed the calculating look that the blonde witch levelled at the redhead.

"Please, Miss Yaxley, you simply must call me Ginny," the witch interjected before Adrian could even begin to formulate a response. "And I'm afraid that I don't know Adrian or Montague at all well; they were several years ahead of me at Hogwarts, and I graduated the year after the others."

"Of course, but only if you agree to call me Ophelia," the blonde witch replied happily, far more relaxed now that she had been satisfied by Ginny's fleeting acquaintance with Adrian.

The six wizards inwardly sighed with relief once it was apparent that the blonde society witch appeared satisfied that Ginny wasn't a threat to her. The four younger wizards were even fortunate enough to discover that Ophelia had lost interest in them entirely upon discovering that the younger witch was closer to their age. Blaise and Draco still took note of the fleeting look of longing the witch gave them before turning back to Adrian; they would have to keep their guard up around this one.

"Making friends?" Blaise asked slyly.

"Of course, I'm extremely affable," Ginny agreed before her attention was drawn to the pitch as the players from both teams took to the air.

Marcus Flint nodded to them all as he led the Falcons on a warm up lap of the stadium, leering playfully at Ginny after narrowly hiding his double take at her clothing. Ronald Weasley wasn't anywhere near as composed. His eyes were automatically drawn to his sister's red hair and his face coloured to match when he realised she was wearing his opposition's colours, not to mention she was sitting in a private box reserved for friends and family of Falcons players.

"You're going to be in trouble after the match," Draco commented.

"I've already tried to point that out to her," Blaise agreed.

Ginny just shrugged and settled in to enjoy the match.

Two hours later and everyone, save Ophelia, was deeply engrossed in the surprisingly close match. The Falcons' keeper was putting in a routinely strong performance only having allowed the Canons' chasers to squeak six goals past him the entire match. However, to the entire stadium's shock, Ron, who was at best an average keeper, saved everything bar nine of the Falcons' attempts at the goals, and Flint's irritation was quickly mounting. The match was shaping up to be a real contest.

Aside from the Quidditch match, the young wizards were amusing themselves with the dichotomy that was the attitudes of their two female companions' reactions to the match. On the one hand, it would be extremely difficult for Ophelia to care any less about the goings on of the match, and the witch had instead been doing her best to commandeer Adrian's attention, practically resorting to rubbing herself against the wizard in an effort to draw his eyes away from the Quaffle. On the other hand, Ginny's attention had been wholly focused on the match. She appeared to live and breathe each moment with the players, much to the wizards' amusement, routinely jumping to her feet and having difficulty sitting still for any length of time. Draco and Blaise had even made several attempts to engage the redhead in conversation, all of which had ended in failure. Eventually, after exchanging amused glances and a covert shrug, the pair of wizards had given up.

Another hour or so later, the blonde witch, completely disgusted by her inability to engage Adrian's attention, decided to strike up a conversation with Ginny during a timeout.

"The orange player who just flies in front of the circle on the sticks keeps looking at you," Ophelia commented slyly, giving an exaggerated nod in Ron's direction.

"Really?" Ginny asked, feigning surprise while Draco hid his smile in his drink and the other wizards became very interested in the temporarily vacant pitch.

"Mmm, he keeps giving you these really intense looks; I think he might fancy you," the blonde continued, completely oblivious to her folly.

"Me?" Ginny exclaimed, clearly to everyone other than the blonde, forcing incredulity into her voice.

"Yeah, don't be surprised; you're a beautiful witch," Ophelia gushed. "You should go speak to him after the match."

"I don't know if that's a good idea," Ginny disagreed, trying not to laugh.

"Why ever not?" Ophelia pressed. "He's a good looking wizard and a Quidditch star."

"Good looking?" Ginny snorted. "He ties with Percy for the honour of ugliest older brother."

"Brother?" squeaked Ophelia.

"Afraid so," Ginny confirmed with a grin. "I certainly hope he isn't leering at me."

"Eww, that's just gross," Ophelia agreed, before becoming consumed by her own thoughts.

The box was enveloped by silence for a few minutes before Ginny finally broke the tension.

"I'm sorry," she said softly but sincerely, looking directly at Ophelia.

"Whatever for?" the older witch asked, genuinely perplexed by Ginny's apology.

"That was incredibly unkind of me," Ginny explained. "I should have corrected your mistake rather than embarrassing you like that."

"That's okay," Ophelia accepted the younger witch's apology, clearly not realising that the redhead had been toying with her ignorance.

"Daft bint," Draco muttered, receiving several grunts of agreement from the other wizards present.

"So, if your brother plays for the orange team, why are you supporting the grey team?" Ophelia asked.

"Well, Marcus gave me the ticket, not Ron, so it would be rude to support his opponents after he was so generous," Ginny explained her reasoning. The six Slytherin wizards quietly noted that the redhead was clearly avoiding the main reason that had influenced her decision, filing the information away to be analysed later.

"That makes sense," Ophelia happily agreed.

The timeout stretched on as the Canons also claimed the additional time allotted to a medical timeout as a Mediwizard attended to an injury sustained by one of their chasers who had strayed too close to Marcus during one of their plays.

"So are you also a member of DAD?" Ginny asked in an attempt to restart the conversation.

"Not yet, but I'm joining soon," Ophelia gushed enthusiastically. "It's great that you call it DAD too; Daughters of Avalonian Decent is such a long name."

"Quite the mouthful," Montague agreed. "You might be onto something there, Red."

"Are you joining with this year's new inductions?" Ophelia asked. "Weasleys are Pureblood aren't they? It will be nice to have a friend there for a change."

"No, I'm not joining," Ginny told the excitable witch, sending a quick glare at the wizards for making fun of Ophelia. "My mother isn't even a member."

"What's your mother's maiden name?" Ophelia asked, seemingly determined to get Ginny to join the group.

"Prewitt," Ginny told her, rolling her eyes at everyone's obvious interest in her Pureblood pedigree.

"Prewitt and Weasley!" Ophelia exclaimed. "Those are two old pureblood lines; I'm sure my mother will be happy to sponsor your membership application after I tell her all about you."

"Great," Ginny responded unenthusiastically, secretly relieved that the players were taking to the field again.

"You going to join DAD then?" Draco asked, leaning into her personal space to whisper the question to her.

"I don't know," Ginny answered honestly. "You don't have to make it sound so disgusting."

"Hmm, now that you mention it, it is a bit suggestive," Blaise agreed, waggling his eyebrows.

"Ignore them," Greg advised the young witch, speaking for possibly the first time throughout the match.

Mere minutes later, the Falcons' Seeker captured the Snitch, besting a lacklustre pursuit from the Canons' seeker after performing a rather pedestrian dive.

"I could have done better than that," Draco groused.

"That was incredibly anticlimactic," agreed Theo.

"My Aunt Myrtle could have done a better job than that," Ginny agreed with a shake of her head.

"Oh, is it finished? I thought it was going to last forever," Ophelia commented as the rest of the box's occupants turned to look at her in disbelief.

"Yes, it has, the game ends as soon as one of the team's Seekers catches the Snitch, the little golden ball," Blaise told the oblivious witch before any of the other wizards could make a snide comment. Adrian shot him a thankful look. "Shall we go see if we can catch Flint on his way out of the locker rooms?"

"I'll meet you there; I have to swing past the bookies," Ginny told them to go ahead without her, surprising the wizards when she pulled a blue betting parchment out of her pocket.

"She bet that the Weasel would have his nose broken three times," Draco announced after snatching the slip of parchment from Ginny.

"So what if I did?" Ginny retorted before snatching the parchment back and walking quickly past a collection of stunned wizards and out of the luxurious VIP box.

"The witch just won one hundred Galleons from her brother's injuries," Draco chuckled.

"Yeah, well stop aggravating her," Blaise hissed. "We haven't gotten any information from her yet."

"Relax, Zabini, we'll invite her out for a celebratory drink," Adrian ended the brewing argument before it could get started. "And try to tone it down a bit, Malfoy; we all want to know what happened."

It didn't take long for the group to make their way out of the stands and then through security to wait for Flint to finish showering and for Ginny to join them. Standing not too far away from them was a crowd of overexcited fans whose excitement only surged again each time a photographer snapped a photo of them. Through the security barriers, but still not too far away from the group of fans, stood a few Quidditch reporters waiting for the opportunity to fling inane questions at the exhausted players.

As though it had been choreographed, or at the very least a few secret signals exchanged, the doors of both the home and away players' rooms were flung open at the same time, and a small army of freshly showered Quidditch players filed out. Marcus Flint and a few other Falcons players strode towards their group while Ronald Weasley made a bee line for the reporters and started preening in front of the photographers.

"We off then?" Marcus' gruff voice asked.

"No, we're still waiting on Red," Adrian told him.

"We'll catch you up then, Flint," a few equally gruff voices said before Flint was slapped on the back a half dozen times and a group of Falcons players strode away.

The group didn't have to wait long for the redheaded witch to reappear. However, Ronald Weasley also spotted her pushing through the crowd at the exact same time and quickly intercepted her before she could rejoin them.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" the irate Quidditch player bellowed at his younger sister.

"Nothing that concerns you," the witch snapped in reply, attempting to step around her brother.

"Nothing that concerns me?" he yelled angrily, roughly grabbing Ginny's arm, causing her to cry out in pain. "You've shown up at my match wearing the enemy's colours!"

Before any of the gobsmacked bystanders could intervene and pull the furious wizard away from his sister, a well aimed hex sailed through the air. The hex hit Ronald Weasley dead on and startled him enough that he loosened his grip on Ginny, allowing her to pull herself free of his grasp. Everyone waited with baited breath as the Canons keeper straightened up just in time for his face and neck to erupt into a profusion of boils and pustules of assorted colours. His enraged gaze followed the hex's path to rest on the very smug looking caster.

"No one speaks to my friends like that," Ophelia declared, slipping her wand back down the front of her t-shirt.

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**A/N:** Well, I did say the updating would be sporadic at best, but I really didn't think it would take me this long to sit down and write the next chapter. Sorry for that. That's all for now, leave me a review and share your thoughts, I love hearing from readers :)

**Notes:**  
**(1) Italian translation: **Piccola strega = little witch  
**(2)** Daughters of Avalonian Descent (DAD) is a play on the Daughters of the American Revolution (DAR).

**(25 July, 2011) **Beta'd chapter uploaded**  
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